


Thunderstorm

by Xqueenie



Series: i am hawksilver trash now [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A teeny bit of angst, But Mostly Smut, Hybrid AU, Hybrid!Pietro, Hybrids, M/M, Shower Sex, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:59:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xqueenie/pseuds/Xqueenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You think having a big dog in a thunderstorm is hard? Try having a fucking hybrid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorm

**Author's Note:**

> In which Queenie procrastinates her serial fic to write more Hawksilver trash.
> 
> ([please consider donating to this Gofundme for me and my girlfriend to get together](https://www.gofundme.com/ncany2jw) )
> 
> I am also now taking requests for [writing commissions!](http://xandraqueen.deviantart.com/journal/Writing-Commissions-573834778) Follow me on [tumblr](http://xandraqueen.tumblr.com) or watch me on dA to submit requests!

You think having a big dog during a thunderstorm is a hassle? Try having a fucking Hybrid.

Hybrids have always been a big thing. All the innocent and straightforward adoration of a domesticated animal, with all the intelligence and personality of a normal human, rolled into one. There were agencies everywhere, where you could adopt or foster as many Hybrids as you could handle.

Clint had been saying he ought to get a hybrid for well over a year, since his divorce. Isolation wasn’t pleasant at all, (even if he enjoyed it sometimes) and the work on the farm just kept piling up. It was too much for him to handle anymore.

Finally, he’d found himself at the adoption agency one bright summer morning, looking hopefully for a Hybrid that could help him work.

“I’m sorry,” the lady had told him, “all of our working breeds have recently been adopted; our Hybrids here aren’t built for tough labor. You might check the Agency in the next town over?”

Bitterly, Clint had cursed himself for waiting too long, thanked her, and started out. He’d have to wait until they got new Hybrids, because there was no way he was driving a hundred miles to the next town with an Agency. But just as he was about to leave, the woman stopped him again.

“Actually… we have one. A greyhound mix. He’s not a working breed, but he’s still strong, fast, and loyal, if you can make it past his stubbornness.”

Clint wasn’t sure. But… it was better than waiting, so he’d asked to see the Hybrid.

As soon as he saw Pietro, he just couldn’t help himself. He just about adopted the pup on the spot.

He was prickly, of course, at first. Clint didn’t expect anything else. He decided he’d give Pietro a little while to settle in before putting him to work, just so he was sure to bond with him. But the whole first day, Pietro didn’t say a thing. He only glanced at the food Clint had given him, messing with the strings on the black sweatshirt he wore. Clint tried not to pry.

By the end of the second day, Pietro had finally decided to speak to him.

“You ever had a Hybrid before?” Clint noted the thick accent he spoke with, but still that he was incredibly articulate.

“Think so,” Clint answered, “when I was a kid. She ran away, though.”

Pietro snorted, and didn’t say another word until the next day, when he whined about Clint “having no food”. Once that first conversation barrier was down, the kid wouldn’t _stop_ talking. He was snippy, sarcastic, and continuously challenging Clint’s authority.

“Hey, Pietro, I gotta work on the tractor today,” Clint had said one morning, “Can you refill the animals’ food troughs?” Pietro, who had been lazing about on the couch (while Clint was all ready to start the day), whined like he’d never had to work a day in his life.

“But we filled them _yesterday_.”

Clint rolled his eyes at him. “Yeah, right? It’s almost as if they have to eat _every day_.”

With no shortage of moaning and groaning, Clint finally managed to get him into something of a routine. That being said, Pietro somehow managed to get him up at the fucking crack of dawn to be fed and let out, but then immediately went back to sleep until Clint practically dragged him off the couch.

Bath day was a worse horror than Clint had ever faced. It ended with wet carpets, soap bubbles drying in streaks on some of the walls, and both of them soaked through. Pietro did not like bath day. And, subsequently, neither did Clint after that fiasco.

There were good days. There were days when Pietro complied with little complaining and they both went to sleep without headaches, and these days became more common as he got used to the routine. But there were bad days too, where Clint had to get physical and Pietro fought him all the way through it.

And then, there was That Day.

Pietro absolutely refused to get off the couch in the morning.

“Come on, Pietro,” Clint sighed, “you can’t lay on the couch all day. We both have chores to do, and I have to go into town today. I’m in no mood for this.”

Pietro didn’t whine or complain this time. He merely glared at Clint and curled up tighter under his blanket.

“ _Pietro_.”

“I don’t fucking want to!” Came the muffled shout. “I don’t feel like it!”

“Neither do I! But shit’s gotta get done!”

_“Fuck off!”_

Clint yanked the blanket off him. “Listen here, you little shit!” Pietro snarled at him and tried to pull the blanket back, but Clint didn’t back down. “You don’t fucking talk to me that way!”

Pietro stood up, letting him have the blanket (and effectively sending Clint back a few steps), “Fine! Fucking send me back to the Agency, then! I don’t care. This always fucking happens. I’m used to it.”

Okay, that one caught him off guard. “...how many times did you-”

“Seven. Eight, counting you.”

“Don’t count me. I don’t count.”

“Yes you do!” Pietro screamed, tossing a pillow at him, “You all fucking do! No human has liked me-- not a single fucking one! They took my sister, because she’s “more well behaved”, but not me!” He threw another pillow, and it missed Clint by a mile and hit the wall behind him. “Never me! You fucking said it yourself, I’m a little shit!”

“Hey, I- … I didn’t mean that-”

“Yes you did! Of course you did! Because you’re all the fucking same!”

Clint, frustrated that he wasn’t getting a word in edgewise, raised his voice. “Well, maybe the reason people keep fucking sending you back is because you absolutely _refuse_ to let anyone care for you! Whining, complaining, lying around the house all day, doing nothing to help! You’re not helping your own situation by acting like a nine-year-old throwing a tantrum!”

“So send me back!”

_“No!”_

Pietro stopped. He looked just as angry, but more confused now. Finally, it gave Clint a chance to talk more.

“Look, kid,” he sighed, “I’m sorry they separated you from your sister. I didn’t know that. That’s a cruel thing to do, and more Agencies do that than anyone would like. But… I’m all alone, here, if you haven’t noticed. My wife took the kids, and I only get to see them a few weekends out of the year. I’m lonely as fuck, and I’ll bet you are too.”

Pietro looked at the floor, shifting his feet.

“...Hey.”

He crossed his arms. Clint stepped closer to him, grabbing his arm gently. “Hey, look at me.” Pietro looked at him after a while, eyes welling up with tears. Clint gave him a small smile. “I ain’t giving up on you, kid.”

Pietro’s tears flowed over, and he suddenly threw his arms around Clint’s neck and began sobbing into his shoulder. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Clint hugged him back, gently petting his hair as the kid whimpered semi-coherently about wanting to see his sister again.

After that, there were much more good days than bad. In fact, there were even brand new fantastic days when Pietro would curl up next to him on the couch as he watched TV, resting his head in his lap and snoozing, tail thumping against the couch.

But then, thunderstorms happened.

The first one wasn’t that bad. The thunder was far away, and Pietro was only jumpy throughout the entire storm, choosing to wrap himself up in his blanket as if it would protect him. This is how it would normally go, unless it was three AM, and Clint was trying to sleep; in that case, Pietro barged into the room and dove under the covers with him, shivering and whimpering. On those nights, Clint found himself squeezed onto the edge of the bed, because Pietro always refused to leave once the storm subsided, and slept sprawled on Clint’s bed.

But this storm in particular was an awful one.

Pietro had a panic attack. He was running blindly around the house, knocking things over and smacking into walls and furniture left and right. Whenever lightning struck or thunder crashed, he would start barking; something Clint wasn’t aware Hybrids actually did, until he looked up on the internet that a panicked Hybrid may, in fact, rely on animalistic survival instinct, which involved actual barking, hissing, howling, whatever.

After nearly an hour of chasing and attempting to calm the poor kid, Clint finally tackled him. What he wasn’t expecting, was Pietro to fight him as if he was the “enemy” making all the loud noises. Pietro got in a bite to Clint’s arm before the older man managed to pin his arms to the floor. He quickly straddled Pietro’s waist, trying to keep him still as the Hybrid thrashed and snarled beneath him.

 _Okay, think_ , he told himself, _what did it say on that website about calming a panicked Hybrid?_ Well, it probably wasn’t going to work, but Clint had nothing else in mind for calming Pietro. He kept one of his arms pinned, while he freed one hand to push Pietro’s head out of the way. Then, he quickly leaned down and sunk his teeth into the Hybrid’s neck, right where it met his shoulder. Pietro’s thrashing quickly died down, and his snarling turned into helpless little whimpers.

When Clint pulled back and let go, Pietro clung to his shirt, shivering and whimpering. He sighed and pet his hair, noting his little grey ears flattened against his head.

“Jesus, kid,” Clint murmured, “You okay now?”

Pietro managed a nod, nuzzling into Clint’s chest.

“...Hey, I think the thunder’s just about stopped. What say to a nice, hot bath, eh?”

Pietro, instead of the usual sass he gave when bathtime came, only paused before nodding, and let Clint lead him to the bathroom.

It actually was nice when he wasn’t fighting it, Pietro had to admit. He relaxed into the steamy water, feeling rather lethargic after that entire situation. He glanced over at Clint, who sat on the floor across from the sink with his back pressed up against the wall. He seemed to be dozing, so Pietro splashed a little water his way. He snapped up immediately at the sudden feeling.

“Hey!”

Pietro laughed and sunk into the water again, as Clint gave him a look.

“Watch it kid.”

“What? Afraid of a little water, old man?”

“Hey, who you callin’ old? I haven’t even hit forty-five yet.”

“That’s still ooooooooooold~”

“Don’t make me come in there, ya little punk.”

Pietro laughed again, leaning his head back on the edge of the porcelain. “...you pin people down a lot?”

“No. Why?”

He shrugged. “Just wondering. You seem pretty good at it.” A smirk stretched across Pietro’s face, and he glanced at Clint again. “It was pretty hot~”

“Okay, quit joking around or I’ll kick you out of the tub.”

“Wasn’t joking.”

Suddenly, Clint felt the world come to a halt. Pietro was still looking at him, eyes half-lidded, and suddenly, it was too hot in there.

“Not gonna lie,” the kid continued, “might just be the bite talking, but… I _liked_ that. You holding me down, biting me, being on top of me…”

Clint stood up. “Alright, cut it out.”

Pietro closed his eyes, grinning lazily. “Mnh, too late… now I’m thinking about it… Hey, how come you never bathe?”

“I bathe all the time. I shower every morning.”

“Yeah but… you don’t take baths. You _make_ me take them.”

“Yep. That’s what I read I’m supposed to do.”

“Forget that,” Pietro opened his eyes again, sitting up slowly (Clint tried not to look at the water sloooooowly dripping off his shoulders), “I wanna shower. Never had one.”

“Well, I guess you could _try_ , but I can’t wash you-”

“Take one with me, then.”

Clint felt his face get hot. “Kid, I see what you’re trying to do-”

“Oh? Then I can cut right to it.” Clint scrambled back against the closed door as Pietro hopped out of the tub and, naked and still dripping wet, pressed himself against Clint. He was a good few inches taller, and had to stoop a little, but he wrapped his arms around Clint’s neck and began nipping and licking at his ear.

“I want you~” he whined, rubbing himself against Clint’s hip.

Clint, regrettably more turned on right now than he had been in a long time, tried feebly to pry the wet, horny Hybrid off of him.

“Pietro, hey, come on, we can’t-”

A whimper. “Oh, please~ Please, I _need_ you…”

Clint would have tried to push the kid off again, but he absolutely could not. His hands remained where they were, gripping Pietro’s sides, but he couldn’t push. Actually, he felt himself press Pietro’s body closer to him, forgetting about his increasingly dampening shirt. He cursed himself for this, but he’d be lying if he said the kid wasn’t hot. He was pretty sure there were rules against banging your Hybrid, but they quickly became an echo in the back of his mind. Now, Pietro was moaning in his ear, kissing his neck, begging in little tiny whispers.

Fuck it.

Fuck everything.

Clint tightened his hold on Pietro’s waist, and quickly flipped them around, pushing Pietro against the door and crushing their lips together. A satisfied moan left Pietro's throat, and he wrapped himself around Clint, pressing as much of their bodies together as he could possibly manage.

For a moment, Clint was satisfied to nip and kiss at his pulse point; just listening to Pietro's moans as he worked his hips against Clint’s thigh was enough to get him half hard already. Kid could've gotten himself off on his own, but Clint was having none of that, not yet.  He pulled back to strip out of his clothes, and Pietro gazed at him, pupils blown with lust.

"You wanna shower?" Clint grinned at him, "Let's shower."

They might have been wasting water (not to mention the risk of showering during a thunderstorm), but fuck if Clint cared. The sensation of Pietro’s ass around him, the little noises he made-- whimpers and moans and pleas for more made it all worth it.

Clint groaned as he tightened his grip on the hybrid’s hips, moving just a little tiny bit. Pietro groaned and pressed his cheek to the cold tiles of the shower wall, wiggling his ass and spreading his legs a little farther apart to try and coax Clint to go a little faster. Their hips rocked together, slow, unsure. Unfamiliar to how the other one moved. Perhaps even waiting for the other to try something-- to try and gain control. But for a second, they remained as they were, rocking back and forth, equals for this suspended moment in time.

Clint hadn’t done this in a while. Even before his marriage ended, he and Laura hadn’t been intimate since before their third kid was born. Maybe he was a bit rusty, or maybe he was just swallowed up by how gorgeous his pup was, and how blindingly amazing his ass felt around his cock. Caught up in how good it felt or worried that he might get something wrong after all this time, he didn’t know. His mind was scrambled.

Finally, Pietro got too impatient and pressed back against him, working his hips a little harder.

“You can move~” Oh, that little accented purr was what did it. Clint took him firmer by the hips and pulled all the way out before thrusting back in. The little gasp that escaped his lips was what egged him on; made him sure that he wasn’t as bad as he thought he was (and yes, he _was_ just caught up in the sensation of being balls-deep in his sexy little hybrid).

His pace quickened, and the two of them found a rhythm in each other that sent them barreling towards their climaxes like there was no tomorrow. The way Pietro’s back arched whenever Clint struck his prostate made him the most beautiful creature on the planet-- and, if he was being entirely honest, the only creature on the planet he’d want for the rest of his life. The way those moans increased in pitch and volume and frequency the more Clint pounded into him, oh god. He was close. He felt that familiar tug in his gut-- felt the buildup nearly tear him apart.

Before he could come, he felt a small burst of control come back to him, and he quickly yanked himself out of Pietro. When the hybrid made a little noise of protest, Clint flipped him around and pressed his back against the tiles.

“Arms around my neck, baby.”

Pietro nodded, and as he latched onto Clint, the older lifted the kid’s legs around his waist, using the wall as leverage as he shoved back in. Pietro clung to him for dear life, pleas melting into a language Clint didn’t understand, mixed with moans of his name. Clint grinned and panted, biting down on that pale neck like he’d done earlier, pounding in one more time before he felt Pietro clench around him. His grip on the kid’s hips tightened as Pietro howled his name, shooting long ropes of white all over both of their stomachs. With a moan, Clint buried himself as deep as he possibly could before following suit and coming deep inside.

They stood there for a moment, riding out their orgasms and clinging to each other desperately, until Clint slowly set Pietro down. They rested there, with Pietro sitting against the wall of the shower and Clint on his hands and knees over him, panting into each other’s ears. Clint grinned and pulled away to kiss him sweetly and rest their foreheads against each other, and they both let out a chuckle as they heard the last dying rumble of the thunderstorm outside.

 


End file.
